


The Phoenix Lives

by velvetcadence



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, BAMF Yuuri, Communication Failure, Domestic Fluff, Endearments, Fairy Tale Elements, Falling In Love, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Mpreg, Light Angst, Long-Haired Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Magic, Oblivious Heartbreaker Katsuki Yuuri, Pining, Post-Hero's Journey, Royalty, Victor Nikiforov is Extra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 04:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14926854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetcadence/pseuds/velvetcadence
Summary: Prince Yuuri has banished yokai from the world. Now home from his travels, he must navigate another adventure: his arranged marriage with Prince Viktor Nikiforov.But Prince Viktor is hiding a secret, one that may upset the fragile state of their marriage.





	The Phoenix Lives

**Author's Note:**

> Um...this got away from me lol. This fic is kind of like...an after-fairytale story. What happens to heroes after they save the world? Kind of inspired by the world of InuYasha but you don’t need to know anything about that. I've been working on this piece off and on for the last year and a half. I wrote Part 15 first and centered the whole fic around that. The original concept had been an a/b/o fic where Viktuuri discover sex before love but it didn't make sense given where the story trampled over my fingers and wrote itself ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Thank you to picklestpickle for giving me the courage to post this!

1.

Yuuri should not feel so afraid to meet his bridegroom.

He sometimes wishes of being an island boy with simple dreams, hands roughened with honest work, face tanned from the heat of the sun. He would be so poor and inconsequential so as to not recognize his own emperor’s face, and have the emperor pay him no mind in return.

As it is, the emperor only knows him too well. And Yuuri is not some nameless peasant, but the crown prince of the Imperial House of Katsuki.

His dreams are not simple. No man who had been born to hold an empire could ever hope to keep it without yearning for greater power.

But he had no dreams of being a husband.

 

2.

The legends go that the heirs of Nikiforov have descended from dragons, with magic humming through their veins. It explains the unusual glow of their eyes, the strange white of their hair—striking, even amongst their own people.

The ancient line of Katsuki claims to descend from the same such magic, though the phoenix holds domain over a land of heat and sun. The Nikiforovs are a people of the snow, they are pale and colorless—which makes it very apparent when they blush.

It is rude, and Yuuri should not stare. But his bridegroom’s tales of unparalleled beauty do nothing to prepare him for the sight. Viktor Nikolaevich Nikiforov sits at a perfect seiza three feet across from him, wearing one of the most elaborate court robes Yuuri has ever seen. They encase him in a colorful array of red, gold, green and purple, like an exotic bird. His hair looks silken, pinned back by a gilded rose.

He blushes beautifully, pink blooming becomingly over his high cheekbones and tall nose.

Yuuri wonders what his bridegroom sees when he looks at him. A future? Or a prison?

 

3.

When Yuuri was a young man, the emperor sent him away to know his own land. “I will not raise you to be ignorant,” he had said. “I coddled my son and look where that got me!”

Yuuri kept his lips pressed tight, not wanting to think about his wayward father.

“When you go,” his grandfather commanded, “Learn the cares of your people. Be a man worthy of the power you hold. I will send my most skilled with you. Okukawa.”

His grandfather’s best guard snapped to attention, kneeling in obeisance. Yuuri felt the weight of duty heavy on his shoulders, but he bore it the best he was able. If he died on the journey, there would be other sons to replace him. But until then, he would live, and fight.

Yuuri traveled the land for five years disguised as a nobleman’s son, but that was not all he did. In Hasetsu, he saved the townspeople from the clutches of a spider demon, and they fell to their knees in relief. In the next village, he helped them ward away thieving fox-demons. The resurgence of yokai in the land was worrying, and Yuuri was beginning to think that there was more to the emperor’s errand than a simple exercise in humility.

By the end of the eighth month, Yuuri learned that he could not die by poison due to the phoenix’s magic in his blood. By the end of the second year, Yuuri discovered the reason why his family out of all magical families had risen from the ashes of the ancient war against the yokai.

He picked up some companions along the way: Takeshi, a demon slayer, and Yuuko, a reformed assassin. Okukawa became close enough to be called Minako-sensei. Tales of Yuuri’s heroics traveled in whispers until it reached the emperor’s ear. The Hero of Hasetsu, as Yuuri had come to be known, was purifying the land of demons wherever he went.

On his fifth year, Yuuri found the rift that allowed demons into the human world and sealed it shut. Still, he did not die, and so on the dawn of his sixth year, Yuuri came home.

His grandfather was pleased to have sent away a boy and welcomed back a man.

 

4.

Yuuri is not very handsome. He knows this. He has common features, despite being a prince. It had allowed him to pass through his own land without recognition for some time. Yuuko tells him that he frequently sells himself short for a royal, but this, in his heart, he knows. It embarrasses him to have his intended stare so blatantly at him. Surely Prince Viktor is disappointed with him.

Yuuri has grown a little fat over the winter, plied with rich foods since his return home. A large scar decorates Yuuri’s left temple like a sunburst, a remnant of his travels. And on his neck wraps the curlicues of burns left behind by the phoenix’s gift. The rest is covered by his robes, but it spans half his torso and all of his back. If before his face had been plain, Yuuri thinks, now he is particularly deformed.

“This one is honored to finally meet you,” Yuuri greets, formal and dignified, although inside he is squirming. “And prays for your forgiveness for the late arrival.”

Prince Viktor bobs his head in a nod, still staring at him. Around him, already seated, Yuuri’s grandfather, mother, sister and her husband watch the exchange silently.

Yuuri lets out a quiet sigh. He is not much for talk. Prince Viktor is so handsome anyway that all words dry up on Yuuri’s mouth.

“I am glad...to see you,” Prince Viktor says, words slow and accent heavy. “I was wondering how you have been.”

His voice is unexpectedly deep. Yuuri hides a blush and tries not to duck his head. “This one is well. How fared your travels?”

Viktor responds as best as he is able, which is surprisingly endearing, because his speech is stilted, but he pairs it with charming little gestures. When he smiles, his mouth makes a shape like a heart.

Yuuri’s mother saves the awkward line of conversation with gentle charm. Yuuri spares an eye for his normally taciturn grandfather, who is watching them all with an amused eye. He has a vague sense that they are all laughing at his expense.

 

5.

A man is brave. A man faces his fears. A man makes his own destiny.

Through quivering hands, Yuuri places his lips on the little ceramic cup that will bind him to a stranger and secure his empire. This is his choice.

On the first cup, he prays for wisdom. On the second, he prays for patience. On the third, he prays for happiness.

He does not pray for love. It does not have to be love. Prince Viktor sips from the same cups, but his face is unreadable like a beautiful mask.

 

6.

The wedding is exhausting. Yuuri hates every minute of it. They stand on too much ceremony in front of too many people, and Yuuri drinks too much at the party afterwards to forget how awkward he feels, and the morning after he wakes up vomiting. Prince Viktor is in his own rooms, thankfully away from his mess of a husband.

_Husband._

Yuuri groans miserably. The hangover is akin to the pain brought on by being stabbed by demon poison, but made more miserable by the fact that Yuuri has nothing and no one to blame but himself. He turns away from the sunlight and hides his eyes under his arm.

Halfway through the morning, a servant asks through the door if Yuuri would have his breakfast now, and if it is alright for Prince Viktor to join him.

Yuuri says yes to breakfast, and reluctantly acquiesces to Prince Viktor’s presence. The servants will talk if Yuuri rejects him the morning after the wedding, and word will travel to the emperor, who will scold Yuuri, and tell him he is an ungrateful boy, and word will travel back to the land, who will fear the instability of the royal line, and word will travel back to the Nikiforovs, who will regret the arrangement and deem him unworthy of Viktor’s hand and declare war. All because Yuuri was afraid to have breakfast with him.

“Good morning, honored husband,” Prince Viktor greets cheerily, dressed in a light blue robe that suits his complexion and brings out the color of his eyes. “Tea?”

“This one wishes you a good morning,” Yuuri replies mutedly. “Yes, thank you.”

The other man watches him eat with a small smile on his face. The fare is traditional, and very delicious. Viktor handles his chopsticks with surprising dexterity. There is grace even in the smallest flick of his wrists. Does he dance, perhaps? Or swordfight?

He opens his mouth to ask, but refrains at the last moment. It does not seem to matter, in the quiet of the morning.

 

7.

Being crown prince means endless work. It is times like these, knee deep in paperwork and administrative squabbling that Yuuri wishes he were just a simple man. He says as much to Mari, who is sitting nearby reading a trade agreement.

“You had five years to get all that adventure out of your system, little brother,” she says. “Haven’t you had enough of slaying demons, saving people and rescuing beautiful maidens? Even I wasn’t lucky enough to be allowed out of the palace.”

“Grandfather sent me out because it was important, not because it was _fun_.”

“Grandfather sent you out because he knew the phoenix’s power would sustain you.”

“If I knew that before I left, it would have saved me a great deal of worry.”

There is the shuffle of paper, and a long silence as Mari sorts through documents.

“You know, you’re very different from when you left. You’d always been a shy boy. You’ve grown, haven’t you?”

“I’m still shy. At my wedding banquet, I barely spoke to my husband.”

Mari laughs, belly-deep, and Yuuri’s mouth drops in alarm.

“What?”

“Yuuri, on the night of your wedding, you got roaring drunk and loudly proclaimed your undying love for Vicchan in front of the whole court!”

“What!”

“And you danced. So much. And you asked him to bear your children.”

Yuuri gaped.

“You also tried to strip naked. Yuuri—where are you going?”

“I am going to drown myself in the river in my shame,” Yuuri declares, and Mari scoffs at him in a way only older sisters can.

 

8.

That night, Yuuri returns his rooms to find Prince Viktor waiting for him. His night robes are finely embroidered, the neck of a dragon curled over his left shoulder and its head resting over his heart. It must have come from his trousseau; the stitching is foreign, and the fabric, though familiar in cut, is sourced only across their borders.

Yuuri can also see the peak of Prince Viktor’s nipples through the thin cloth.

“Honored husband,” the prince smiles, and the candlelight softens his sharp features. Yuuri hesitates, nervous.

The prince’s smile drops a fraction, and Yuuri quickly seats himself beside him.

“Honored husband,” Yuuri greets, daring not to breathe when the prince holds his hand, twining their fingers together.

“I have missed you today.”

“Eh?”

“ _Yuuri_ ,” the prince whines, taking on a petulant tone. “What took you so long?”

“Huh?”

“I have been waiting an eternity to spend time with you and you kept me waiting! What a cruel husband!” Prince Viktor frowns at him, and Yuuri’s heart freezes. Then the prince cracks a smile.

Yuuri gives a nervous laugh of relief. It is strange to be teased like this. Yuuko and Takeshi do it routinely, but they had regarded him as a friend long before he revealed himself as the crown prince.

“Forgive this foolish one, then.”

“Will you hold me tonight, as we sleep?”

“If that is your wish.”

“I wish it tonight and all the nights after.”

“I am not a good sleeper. I might kick you.”

“Then I will be kicked. I will be happy, still.”

“You are…” Yuuri trails off, watching Viktor’s silken unbound hair slip off from behind his ear. The crown prince swallows and feels heat of curl in the pit of his stomach.

“I am?” Viktor inches closer. They press together shoulder to hip. Yuuri is not the terrified, sheltered boy who left the palace walls five years ago. He has known desire, and seduction, and the secrets of the flesh. But Viktor’s presence unmoors him, and that hard-won finesse is difficult to come by. There is only room for honesty here, in this small space between them.

“Beautiful,” Yuuri breathes, his head tipping to the side as Viktor nears. He hears Viktor’s soft hitch of breath.

The night is quiet. The wind whispers gently across the leaves. Viktor’s lips are as soft as petals.

The candlelight casts shadows of Viktor’s eyelashes upon his cheeks when Yuuri pulls away, the pulse on his neck jumps. He is trembling, but it is not from fear.

“Will you touch me more?”

“Where?”

Viktor guides Yuuri’s hand to the opening of his robe, and his chest is warm. “Here,” lower, down his stomach, “Here,” lower still, where his thighs part slightly and Yuuri can feel how hard he is through the cloth, “And here. Please.”

Yuuri is no stranger to desire, but Viktor makes him burn like he is dying. It is fortunate, then, that Yuuri is a phoenix.

 

9.

During the first months of marriage, Viktor experiments with endearments.

“Honored husband,” he says, when they meet at court. It is the proper greeting, but the timbre of his voice betrays a fondness and intimacy that makes Yuuri blush.

“Dearest,” he says, when they dine with the family. Yuuri pours him tea and ignores his grandfather’s approving look.

“Sunshine,” he whispers, when he wakes Yuuri in the morning with gentle touches.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighs, when he uncovers the jeweled hair piece Yuuri had commissioned for him, the first gift of many.

“My love,” he gasps, when Yuuri kisses the arch of his neck when they are tangled together in bed. Viktor’s skin flushes easily, and bruises easily too. There are little dots on his hips from when Yuuri had gripped him, vigorous in his lovemaking. He is so pale that if Yuuri sucks a mark on his chest it stays there for three days, and if Yuuri spanks his thighs during their play, the handprint shows up pink and warm. He is a man of moonlight and milk, and Yuuri, in all his deformity, cannot fathom how their match came to be.

Yuuri has only one endearment for Viktor, but it renders him flushed and speechless every time, so he uses it sparingly. In the land when Prince Viktor is from, diminutives are used between friends and lovers, and the one Yuuri uses is particularly intimate. He saves it for when Viktor is at his softest and most vulnerable, almost asleep after lovemaking.

“Goodnight, _Vityenka_ ,” Yuuri whispers, and predictably, Viktor shivers in happiness and cuddles closer, his smile a lovely heart-shaped thing that Yuuri cannot help but kiss.

 

10.

When his schedule allows it, Yuuri finds himself drifting towards Viktor’s rooms, where he holds informal court. Yuuri has duties to attend to, and is busy at all times of the day, but he is inevitably drawn to sit beside his husband, and listen to the calming notes of the string instrument Viktor has been learning recently. His hair is styled elaborately today, the silver sheen of his hair catches the light becomingly, and his robes are an array of shades of pink that highlight his milky complexion. Yuuri has never had any interest in jewelry, but he thinks something golden would suit his husband nicely.

Viktor watches Yuuri watch him, and a smile curls his handsome mouth. He looks the most beautiful like this, content to be spoiled. On his wedding, Yuuri had wished for wisdom, patience and happiness. But in moments like this, he thinks that love would be easy to come by too.

 

11.

One day, several moons into their marriage, Viktor haltingly tells him a story.

“Once upon a time, a prince ran away from home to travel as he was not allowed. His family was furious at him, but magic allowed him to travel in disguise and so for a year he traveled unnoticed. One day, the prince came upon a village beset by demons. Weakened by hunger and the journey, he was unable to escape until a group of demon slayers arrived.”

“The Hero of Hasetsu, as the leader of the group was known,” Viktor continues, despite Yuuri’s sudden intake of breath, “saved that small village, and the villagers repaid him with their best sake.”

Viktor smiles. “The hero got drunk, and danced, and laid claim to the prince’s heart. The prince, having fallen deeply in love, disguised himself as a village maiden and kissed him. The next day, the prince took the form of a large dog and traveled with the group to continue to be with the hero. Whenever the traveling party had the opportunity to settle down in an inn, the prince shed the guise of a dog and took on the look of a maiden, or a man, and allowed himself to love the hero as best as he was able.

“Alas, the prince was inevitably found by searching parties, and spirited away home before he could say goodbye.

“The prince despaired, kept under lock and key in his rooms in the palace for three years, for he was promised to wed the crown prince of Katsuki, a man he had never even seen.”

“Imagine his surprise when arriving at his groom’s kingdom to find his hero in resplendent robes, for he too was a prince in disguise! And so they were reunited and married happily.” Viktor finishes his story with a flourish.

 

12.

Yuuri stands. His heart is racing. It is a story that is both nonsensical and too good to be true. “You have a vivid imagination.”

Viktor’s face falls. “You do not believe me?”

“How can it be? Are you telling me that you are the prince of this story?”

“Yes!”

“That you have deceived me from the moment we met and even until after we were married?”

“Well—”

“And the dog, what did it look like?”

“Ah, large, high up to the hip, with curly brown fur? Okukawa named him Makkachin—!”

Yuuri holds Viktor’s wrist in a tight grip, his lips pale and drawn in a tight line. Makkachin was a name easy enough to retell in stories—but no one outside their travelling party had known that it was Okukawa who had come up with it. Yuuri grieved bitterly for that dog when it disappeared, presumably dead. “And the lovers I had taken, what were their names?”

“Ah, Yuuri, it hurts.”

_“Viktor.”_

Viktor bites his lip, shame making a blush flow through his cheeks, up his ears, and down his chest. “The first was Chihoko. Then Riku...then Haru. Sayori. Genji. Yuta.” In the silence that follows, Viktor begins to cry. “Yuuri, please forgive me. It was the only way to stay close to you."

"You took me for a fool."

Yuuri lets him go, leaving a red circle around Viktor’s wrist. He rises, leaving his husband and his tears behind.

 

13.

Yuuri’s anger and shame burns at Viktor’s deceit. He refuses to sleep in his rooms, where his husband will find him. He convinces the emperor that he must leave at once to cleanse the rift that allowed yokai into the world. It will take days to travel there and days to come back, and he will go alone save for steadfast and loyal Okukawa.

The rift is still sealed shut, as Yuuri expects, but his feet drag on the way home. He takes a detour to a little seaside town, and settles at a littler inn that connects to a natural hot spring.

The fare for dinner is delicious, if simple, and when the hour grows late, the owner sits with Yuuri at the table where he is nursing a cup of tea.

“I did not expect to see you today, my son,” the older man says.

“Father,” Yuuri greets. “I had not expected to be here today.”

“Your mother, is she in good health?”

“Yes, as is Mari.”

“Good, good.”

A bottle of sake is set down in front of him. Yuuri’s lips purse, but he allows his father to pour him a cup.

They do not talk for a long time. When Yuuri was younger, he had yearned for his father’s love and affection. He had thought it was his fault that Toshiya had decided that court life was not for him, that perhaps if Yuuri were a better son, more diligent, more accomplished, his father would have deigned to stay.

“I never understood why you left,” Yuuri says at last, “But the older I get, the more I come to understand.”

Toshiya nods solemnly. “A crown is a heavy burden, Yuuri-kun. Some of us are destined to be emperors. Some of us are not.”

“A man makes his own destiny,” Yuuri says, repeating his grandfather’s words. “I chose to wed him, but I had not known Viktor would hurt me so.”

“Ah, so that is the problem, then. This Viktor of yours.”

“He’s not who I thought he was.”

“That is a common problem, among spouses. Especially right after marriage.”

“Hm.” Yuuri isn’t sure if he should be taking advice about marriage from a man who divorced his wife and left his family to put up a middling seaside inn.

“Do you care for him?”

Yuuri looks at his father’s aged face, and tries to reconcile the image of his youth with the man before him. “I wouldn’t feel so betrayed if I didn’t.”

“Do you think he cares for you?”

The prince sighs wearily, recalls the way Makkachin curled contentedly against him at night during his travels, or the tender way he was touched by Chihoko, or Yuta, or Genji or whatever face Viktor decided to wear that night. “Very much so.”

“Then not all hope is lost. There will always be room for you here, if you wish it. But you are your mother’s son, and her greatest virtue is knowing duty above all else.”

“Duty,” Yuuri whispers into his cup, closes his eyes against the memory of Viktor’s tears.

By the time the cup is empty, Yuuri knows he has dallied long enough.

 

14.

He comes home in sore need of his mother’s arms. There are things even crown princes cannot outgrow.

Viktor greets him softly, almost shyly, and though Yuuri returns the greeting, it is cool and merely civil. After that, he excuses himself to meet with his grandfather.

Yuuri spends his meals in his office with Mari speaking in low tones about the encounter at their father’s little inn. Mari had dealt with their father’s absence with a cold anger that sharpened her; Yuuri with a descent into a gray mood that is part and parcel of the man he has become. When the conversation lulls and Mari pushes him to rest, Yuuri dreads finding his husband waiting in his rooms.

Fortunately, Viktor is not here. Yuuri has had time to process the churning ocean of his emotions during the weeks away, but it doesn’t mean that he has articulated them.

 

15.

Yuuri is in the gardens when he notices it—the faint sobbing of a person who does not wish to be heard. It is only because it is so silent that he notices it at all. He pauses in his walk, frowning. In the heart of the palace, only the imperial family is allowed to linger in the private gardens. Perhaps it is his sister, or one of his nephews or nieces. A servant, maybe?

When he catches sight of a bowed back, draped in golden silk, he knows exactly who it is.

His husband.

 _Viktor_ is the one crying in the gardens.

Yuuri is stricken. He motions for his retainers to leave. No doubt they have noticed Viktor too, and they avoid the sight, to spare his dignity. Minako-sensei remains, but she keeps silent—she has the remarkable ability to disappear into the background, if needed. She utilizes her skill now, giving them the illusion of privacy, as Yuuri tentatively reaches out a hand to a golden shoulder.

“Viktor? What is the matter?”

Viktor flinches, and turns around wildly as much as his clothes allow him, and his face is blotchy with his misery, tears running down like waterfalls on his cheeks. The light of day is harsh on his face. He’s beautiful.

“Honored husband!” The prince whispers hysterically, bowing in haste. “Please forgive me for my impropriety!”

Yuuri, taken aback, does not know what to say. His mind stutters and he defaults to formal speech in his discomfort. “This one sees no cause for offense, and wishes only to know what will ease your suffering.”

Viktor shakes his head and wipes at his eyes futilely. Still, his lashes remain wet. Not even his shock has stifled his misery, it is like water overflowing from a cup. “No, no, it’s alright, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you injured in any way? Feverish?”

“No, honored husband.”

“Did someone say something to you?”

“No, honored husband.”

Yuuri pesters him with more questions, but Viktor denies them all, though he keeps crying. Helpless, frustrated, he allows himself to be bold and cups Viktor’s wet cheeks. “Be truthful with me. Please, Viktor. I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do to fix this.”

Viktor’s lovely eyes shutter shut, and his cold hands grip Yuuri’s wrists. “Please love me.” His voice is small and faint, but his language is plain and honest.

“What?” Yuuri’s heart stutters. His breath catches.

“Please hold me like this, always,” Viktor murmurs. “Like I have a place in your heart, even if I don’t. Please be open with me, and sleep by me, and care for me. Please fall in love with me, because I have fallen so deeply for you.”

Yuuri can hardly move with his shock. Viktor has calmed now, as if the confession has eased the pain in his chest.

“Forgive my impudence, honored husband. I know I don’t deserve it after my deceit. It is only that...after knowing your kindness, I cannot forget it. I am so empty without it.”

Yuuri is beyond words, and his heart aches. The ire he had nursed in his heart had died to ash and leaves only a bitter taste on his tongue. His mouth trembles with the realization of his negligence. “It is I who should beg your forgiveness. I have not been a good husband, and I dishonored you in my anger. Will you let me hold you? _Vityenka_?” When Viktor nods, Yuuri doesn’t hesitate to enfold him in his arms, steadying him when he shakes with relief.

 

16.

Later, that night, Yuuri is the one who comes to Viktor’s rooms and touches him gently, kissing away his sighs and his hurts. He is beginning to understand how deeply Viktor’s devotion runs, and how fragile his heart is, for he recognizes the same in himself. 

“You forgot the name of my last lover,” Yuuri says, sharing Viktor’s pillow as his husband traces his numerous scars. Viktor’s lovely hair spills over his shoulder and chest, tickling Yuuri whenever he moves. It will be a chore and a half to comb out the tangles. Yuuri is looking forward to it.

“Hm?”

“My last lover. The only lover. His name was Viktor.”

Viktor smiles, small and heart-shaped.

“So it is.”

 

+1

In spring, the fresh leaves push against the frost, and the drip of melting ice drums a steady rhythm by the window. Yuuri awakens when Viktor gasps, and together they press their fingers against the child that is quickening in his belly. They kiss, warm and tender, and begin to whisper in the morning air of their dreams for the future.

Yokai have not been seen in years. Even Yuuri’s scars have begun to fade.

The land is at peace, and so Yuuri’s heart is at peace.


End file.
